


So Long Forever

by kelscribbles (SabbathPurr)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Actors, Angst, Aunt-Niece Relationship, Best Friends, Co-workers, Comedy, Drama, F/F, F/M, Family Drama, Family Issues, Family Secrets, Father-Daughter Relationship, Female Friendship, Friendship, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Themes, Lesbian Character, Los Angeles, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Multi, POV First Person, POV Lesbian Character, POV Original Female Character, Panic Attacks, Road Trips, Summer, Unrequited Love, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-12-21 03:39:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11935545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SabbathPurr/pseuds/kelscribbles
Summary: Savanna wants to keep the tradition of Saturday dinners with best friend Valerie going until they croak, (and in the afterlife). But Devin, Valerie's soon to be husband wants to see a little less of Savanna around their house.





	1. Chapter 1

Like any other Saturday night, we sat on the back deck with burgers, making up stories about the constellations.

 

“They say if you find Orion and stare too long, you'll go cross-eyed _and_ be able to time travel so you _don't_ go cross-eyed.”

 

Summer, twenty-twelve.

 

“I've heard that just pointing out Pegasus to someone you love gives you both a perpetual case of the hiccups,” Val said, her loud hiccup making me launch half my fries into the air.

 

“No! I need those back!”

 

“They're in my pool, Savvy.”

 

“Well then I'll fish 'em out, damn it!”

 

Being two years since the hiccup, she might've grown bored (and irritated) of fries falling into her pool.

 

Twenty-fourteen Val sat looking straight ahead, not even stealing the tiniest glance at the sky, and my shoulders slumped. I couldn't finish eating. In two nights, we wouldn't be able to do this anymore.

 

“I think you should come to the bachelorette party.”

 

She placed a handful of fries into my lap, making me crack a bit of a smile.

 

“Go for some whisky if you want; Karina said she'd drive us all home.”

 

“It's just. Bachelorette parties are weird.”

 

“C'mon Sav. You know I wouldn't let anyone make you dance on a pool table with five drinks in you, wearing a lamp shade. All you have to do is enjoy yourself.”

 

“I don't want this to stop—our every other Saturday, stuffing our faces with greasy food—it can't stop. You can talk about Devin to me for hours on end if you want, just so long as we have our Saturdays until we croak. Okay, and in the afterlife too, because what else would we fill our time with?”

 

Her eyes softened, the first real makings of a smile flit over her face and vanished in an instant.

 

“Why do you hate him so much? Did he say something to you?”

 

“He's just...”

 

A long-suffering, drawn-out sigh.

 

“He's stupid.”

 

I shuddered at the sudden arctic chill in the air.

 

“I can't _believe_ you said that.”

 

“I'm sorry, Val, I misspoke. I mean, it's clear that he loves you to death, but I—I just don't like him.”

 

“Well there has to be a reason! Tell me!”

 

“There isn't. Sometimes you just find yourself repulsed by certain people and can't pinpoint why.”

 

“Great. The man I'm about to marry repulses you.”

 

“Did you know Orion is best seen in January at nine PM and if it's too cold out at that time you'll turn into a walrus?”

 

“Don't change the subject with lies about Orion.”

 

“The walrus part happened to someone once though, in eighteen-hundred eighty-two in England on a cold, cold—”

 

“Savvy.” Said in a soft, even tone.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“This isn't going to end. No way in hell.”

 

It would, of course. But we say things like that in life, to cope with life and all of its stupid changes.

 

* * *

I tried to explain, to the best of my ability why I didn't go to the party.

 

“The one beverage I had out of a penis-shaped straw in two-thousand seven was more than I could handle.”

 

Not even a snort of laughter. She didn't blink either.

 

“You could've at least let me know you weren't coming. I waited for you for an hour and a half.”

 

“I'm sorry,” sounded frail and childlike, but I meant it. I stacked up more plates and cups her houseguests left in their wake, brushing a clump of silver glitter gathered near her eye with my thumb.

 

“Hopefully you didn't want that there forever.”

 

A hint of a smile.

 

“Thanks.”

 

“How come you decided to have the party here?”

 

She shrugged, dumping more trash into the bag.

 

“Just wanted to make it easier on those that can't stand nightclubs.”

 

I hid my wince behind a cough.

 

“So did your trio of strippers dance to 'I'm Too Sexy' or not?”

 

“I'm upset. Does that mean nothing to you?”

 

“No. I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking.”

 

“I know you think everything will upend after the wedding, but if you put in some effort and get comfortable with the idea of different scenery, things won't change that much. You'll still have me, because ring or no ring, I call the shots in my life.”

 

“Yeah, I know you do. And Devin isn't stupid. He's...just—he's Devin. He's good for you.”

 

Val gave a full smile and sigh of relief after seeing we'd gathered the last of the mess.

 

“I know he is.”

 

She collapsed onto the sofa with a tired grunt.

 

“Thanks for helping.”

 

I nodded, plopping down next to her.

 

“Kind of owed it to you.”

 

She pursed her lips, giving my forearm a firm squeeze.

 

“Want to see the dress?” Her eyes began to shimmer, and I couldn't help but smile.

 

“It's cool, I'll see you _in_ it soon enough. I should take off though, let you get ready.”

 

Her face grew serious and words started tumbling out of my mouth.

 

“I mean, not that I don't want to see it. I just—”

 

“ _Sav_.” A pause.

 

“It's okay.”

 

She held tight to my hands.

 

“You're right; you'll see me in it in six hours.”

 

“I'm going to make an effort. I am. I'm not trying to push you away. That's the opposite of what I want.”

 

“I know. Go home and get ready. I'll see you soon.”

 

An exhalation of great relief.

 

“Okay. Make sure and dance to 'I Want to Know What Love is' in the dress before you leave.”

 

* * *

Delicate silk vines gave the illusion they held the gown in place along the sides, while tiny flowers decorated the back panel. The fabric flowed with her movements like water, and any bit of light made it shimmer. Seeing her eyes shimmer along with it dredged a smile out of me.

 

I stood by (or sat), so she could keep her smile and keep shimmering, and I could think my thoughts and Devin could be Devin.

 

The pair walked over hand-in-hand, and my stomach fell to my feet. Not that I had anything aside from my usual nonsense to impart to Val, but I didn't need him there, being all Devin-y and such. Their faces shined from all the dancing, both sets of eyes glittering like Haley's Comet. Devin's expression flatlined after catching my eye, smile transforming into something rehearsed and hollow.

 

His round black-rimmed glasses reminded me of Harry Potter's. The lenses so thin it looked like they were missing. I resisted the urge to poke a digit through one of them when I met him, and the urge still lingered.

 

It could've been I just didn't like people who towered over me, or those with long, bony fingers. His nose didn't fit the shape of his face, and sat isolated from his eyes and mouth, drifting off to sea. If he did decide to smile at me, it looked like the smile worn by every car salesman I'd ever met. Suffocating in its condensation, plastic, and weirdness.

 

His smiles for Val almost couldn't hold the amount of genuine love and affection they burst with, and I couldn't get over the differences.

 

“Hey Savanna.”

 

I too said hello to the top of Devin's head.

 

Val, oblivious to our head-hellos, crinkled her nose at me, poking her tongue out the side of her mouth. I did the same.

 

“Hurry and fill the seats before Trace and Ethan come back.”

 

Devin barked out a strained “ha!” and settled himself in the chair across from mine. He continued to acknowledge the top my head.

 

Val slid in next to me and gave my ribs a light poke.

 

“Lookin' good hot stuff.”

 

I looked around the room.

 

“Who, me?”

 

She pressed a hand to her chest.

 

“Who else?”

 

I snorted.

 

“Dude, that dress was made for you, and it seriously doesn't look like it weighs ten-thousand pounds like most wedding dresses.”

 

“Actually, it _was_ made for me, and it weighs about five-thousand, give or take.”

 

She curled her fingers around Devin's hand.

 

“Agreed?”

 

Devin's eyes lit up at her soft, playful smile.

 

“Yup. Almost threw my back out picking up the train.”

 

“You picked up a train? I'm impressed.”

 

Not the funniest response in the world, but I needed to know if he'd still laugh.

 

“Thanks. I believe that's the sole reason Val married me.”

 

Alright, so he knew what was up. Good for him, I guessed.

 

“Damn right it is.”

 

We cackled like a trio of old chums, warmth replacing tension for a few glorious seconds.

 

“Oh, I see Trace and Ethan finally. Be back in a few, I'm gonna find out where they're actually sitting.”

 

At my horrified expression, Val quirked her eyebrows, her eyes taking on a bit of sternness.

 

_You can do this, Sav._

 

I watched her hurry off to her sister wide-eyed, almost not believing it. More payback perhaps? I'd probably never know.

 

Having no other option, I turned in my seat to face Devin.

 

“So...”

 

The man jumped out of whatever reverie I'd broken and stared at me with owl eyes.

 

“How's married life treating you so far?”

 

His eyes went back to their usual sleepy state, half of a smile tugging at him.

 

“No complaints.”

 

“Good to know.”

 

“Yup.”

 

The universe could be so humorless sometimes.

 

“If you guys ever need a hand with anything—like painting or putting things together, let me know. I've gotten good at building furniture.”

 

“That's nice of you to offer, but I'm pretty sure the two of us could handle a bookcase or whatever.”

 

I shut my eyes for two seconds, took a deep breath.

 

“Am I not welcome in your home?”

 

“Yeah,” he began, forehead wrinkling in confusion.

 

“Of course you are.”

 

“Then why did you brush off my offer to help?”

 

“Honestly? I want Val to myself for a while, you know?”

 

“Oh. Well, yeah.”

 

“I'd like to be able to take her out on Saturdays every now and again. Make some traditions, travel, whatever we want.”

 

I took another deep breath, counted to ten.

 

“I totally understand. But she does have friends, and they'll want to spend time with her too.”

 

He snorted, wiping sweat from his upper lip.

 

“No kidding. She has an entire army of friends.”

 

_Yeah, and that burns the fuck out of you, doesn't it?_

 

I sat there and seethed in silence. I didn't trust myself to speak.

 

“Look Savanna, you still work with her, so you spend more time with her. I was lucky when I got to stay on set that extra three weeks, but with a different job and our clashing schedules, it's...it's just hell. Even with her being off because when I get home, she's fast asleep. We only have the weekends.”

 

His eyes went from group to group in search of Val. Once found, his shoulders relaxed. A small smile lit up his face and vanished two seconds later.

 

“I miss her.”

 

“Of course you do,” I said, most of my anger gone, the words sounding defeated.

 

Something needed to be done, and I had to think fast with Val coming back over.

 

“Devin?”

 

“Hm?”

 

“I'll disappear for a few months, but I will call every now and then. Okay?”

 

He blinked at me, his mouth snapping open and shut.

 

“Yeah—okay. That's—that would be great. Thanks.”

 

“Uh huh.”

 

_Asshole_.

 


	2. Chapter 2

She told me in great detail all about Makaha Beach two weeks later—it's placidness and beauty, and how some seagulls ran off with Devin's lunch—twice.

 

I laughed along with her, unable to stop picturing it.

 

“I warned him about feeding them in the first place.”

 

She asked what Devin and I talked about at the wedding, and I winced.

 

“Oh you know, just...strippers.”

 

I heaved a great sigh over the dead-silent line.

 

“Not much, honestly. He...um, told me he missed you, and he's looking forward to serenading you with Barry White songs for months on end.”

 

“We've more than taken care of the marriage consummation.”

 

I frowned into the phone.

 

_Gross. And I guess she didn't read between the lines there._

 

“I don't think I'll—I'm thinking about a solo road-trip on Thursday. After five interviews, three photoshoots, and a violent sneezing fit that held up my Dove commercial, why the hell not? I need to see more of the world, damn it.”

 

“Oh, god, couldn't agree more you sheltered farm girl. What's been keeping you, huh?”

 

I snorted at her sudden New Jersey accent.

 

“I've actually never set foot on a farm, but alright. We'll go with it.”

 

“Would you mind some company?”

 

Accent gone and asked with complete sincerity, I stared at the phone and gave my earlobe a tug. Could've misheard her.

 

“Could you repeat that, professor? I don't want to fail the exam.”

 

A soft laugh.

 

“You heard what I said.”

 

“Why would you want to go anywhere else so soon?”

 

“I've been memorizing lines since the day we got back from the honeymoon. Rehearsals are in mid-June. I could use a bit of a recharge, and also would rather you didn't go alone. We've never gone on a trip together either.”

 

For once in my life, I fell speechless.

 

“Unless you had your heart set on going solo.”

 

“No—I. I'd love if you went with me. I just don't want to take you away from Devin and Barry White.”

 

I'd never felt more conflicted than I did right then. My heart jackhammered against my ribs.

 

“I'd say Devin's had his fill of me what between the honeymoon and offering to take me to and from the airport. Though I'm not saying I don't care that he misses me—I miss him too, but I'll find a way to make it up to him if he's upset. Or even if he isn't.”

 

_Huh, well. How 'bout that?_

 

“So we're really doing this? You're going to put up with me for days at a time?”

 

“That's right,” she said, the accent coming back stronger than ever.

 

“You sure you don't got a problem with me taggin' along?”

 

_As if._

 

“You'll be the one to break a bottle over someone's head should anyone shady come along. Why would I have a problem?”

 

* * *

Looking back, I should've gone in, said something to Devin. Something along the lines of: 'Well, sorry about this. I suck.'

 

But Val made the decision to hit the road for four days, not me. He needed to get used to her friends sitting in their driveway, sending her a text for every five minutes they waited.

 

_YOU READY YET_

 

_Fell into the toilet, huh?_

 

_Four days bay-bay don't pack your entire life_

 

_Leave the memory foam pillow home, seriously_

 

_That thing is a weapon. On second thought..._

 

_You actually sleep on that w/o waking up in an ocean of sweat?_

 

Twenty-five minutes later, Val strode out in ankle-length jeans, knees poking through the holes. She'd rolled up the sleeves of her white t-shirt, eyes hidden behind mirrored shades with her mouth set into a straight line. She dragged along a massive suitcase taller than her by an inch or so, the damn pillow stuffed inside no doubt, but I said nothing as I slid down the window.

 

She stood by the drivers side almost a full minute, looking between the house and myself, then pushed up her shades, looking me straight in the eye.

 

“He's not happy.”

 

I squirmed in my seat, drumming a nervous rhythm onto the steering wheel.

 

“Maybe you should stay home then.”

 

She sighed through her teeth, sliding her shades back into place.

 

“I don't want to,” she said, tone resolute, and a sad smile twitching at the corners of her mouth.

 

“I said I'd make it up to him. I need this.”

 

I swallowed the lump in my throat and shrugged a shoulder.

 

“Well. Hop in. First stop is for coffee, then an espresso or five.”

 

The smile she managed didn't quite reach her eyes.

 

“Is third a pit-stop?”

 

“Nah, that's forth. We can hold it in until then.”

 

“Fine,” she said, the New Jersey accent pitched higher than normal and making me laugh.

 

“Whatever you say.”

 

 

* * *

 After cherry danishes dunked in coffee and a healthy dose of my nonsense, Val perked back up, a sparkle of excitement lighting her eyes on our walk back to the car.

 

“So where are we headed first?”

 

“Well, the original plan was Venice since I live two blocks from the beach. I like to pretend I'm a local and give people fake directions to places I'm only vaguely familiar with—”

 

“Wait. You _live_ two blocks from the beach? Since when?”

 

“Since last year's hiatus. A friend kind of twisted my arm to buy a place. Adair. She guest starred a few times. She also tried to propose to me before ever asking me out, but it's okay—she's over in Florida now.”

 

Val pinched the bridge of her nose, stared at me, then erupted in laughter.

 

“Jesus _Christ_.”

 

“Yup, I still blame him for all of that.”

 

“Were you keeping it a secret in case I got the idea to swipe your keys and throw wild parties there like a squatter?”

 

“...Yes?”

 

She laughed again.

 

“I don't know, to be honest. It just never came up. A part of me associated Venice with Adair for a while and the “engagement ring” she most likely got from a cereal box. Thought about selling the place a few months ago, but it's just too beautiful there. You can feel the ocean breeze when you open the windows, and. Yeah. Less of a hassle than crashing at a hotel.”

 

“Are you going to tell me where we're going for the second half of the trip?”

 

“Hell no, no damn fun in that.”

 

Val snorted.

 

“I thought not.”

 

* * *

The two-story town homes reminded me of lego buildings, all snapped into a single row with no wiggle room, boxy and a little cold in its modern appearance. Part of the reason I almost told Adair no way in hell—until I climbed up to the rooftop patio.

 

“Holy shit, it's awesome up here. So much room.”

 

Adair bobbed her head up and down.

 

“Totes. So will you buy it? We'll be right next to each other and we can talk from our roofs.”

 

No laugh followed that statement, just a hopeful, wide-eyed look while she chomped on bubble gum.

 

Should've ran, but like most things out of Adair's mouth, I tended to tune them out. I planned the roof-reveal for after the beach, needing past images to dull in my mind a bit first.

 

“Oh this is nice,” Val said after having a look around.

 

“I love it. Definitely worth keeping.”

 

Part of the kitchen spilled in from the foyer, with the entire open layout coming into focus a few steps out. A medium-sized dining table sat in the far-right corner nestled under the window. One plush white couch and love seat made up the living room, TV mounted above the small fireplace. You could see your reflection in everything from appliances to cabinets, and I glanced at Val from the mirrored fridge doors, leaning back into the couch cushions.

 

“Something to drink before the beach?”

 

* * *

The chrome staircase spiraling up to the roof drew Val's attention within seconds of leaving behind the first floor.

 

I received a hard smack on the shoulder.

 

“You ass, why didn't you _tell_ me we could go up on the roof?!”

 

I clutched my injured shoulder, bottom lip jutting out.

 

“I was _going_ to. Just about to tell you your room was up there and act all serious about it—you spoiled everything.”

 

She shoved me that time, though I caught her smile before she spun around.

 

“You're such an ass.”

 

* * *

The comfort and peace won out over the same damn tree repeating five rows down; your neighbors able to walk over and hand you a cup of sugar, or in my case, an engagement ring so fake the stone in it wobbled.

 

“I kind of wish my room _was_ up here.”

 

I laughed.

 

“Steal the keys if you want. Hang out here with Devin whenever you feel like it.”

 

“ _You_ might want to bring someone here though; someone who understands the logical order of relationships.”

 

I shook my head, taking a seat on one of the chaise loungers.

 

“What did I ever see in her?”

 

Val took the one across from me.

 

“Was she nice? Funny? I never met her.”

 

“Nice enough I guess. She _tried_ to be funny.”

 

“What do you like most about Devin?”

 

“His patience,” answered a second later.

 

“For everything and everyone. You'll never see him pace a room, he rarely yells in the car. It goes hand-in-hand with how gentle he is with animals (and people too of course), because if you're impatient, you really can't be gentle.”

 

“That's true.”

 

I looked up at the sky, just taking a second, breathing in fresh air.

 

“Is there _anything_ you like about Devin?”

 

“I don't know much about him.”

 

“Yeah. Tried fixing that, but he just ended up talking about me.”

 

“That was my fault. I asked how married life was treating him.”

 

Val snorted.

 

“You should've asked what movies he likes, or about his work.”

 

“I don't think we'll ever warm to each other, Val.”

 

“No. You definitely won't if you never get past the small talk.”

 

“Feel like heading to the beach now?”

 

She nodded, stretching her arms out to the sky. I squinted my eyes in confusion as she plopped down next to me.

 

“Can you promise me something?”

 

“I can't be your surrogate, Val—I'm an actor.”

 

She rolled her eyes, but ignored me, plowing ahead.

 

“Promise you'll give him one more chance. Instead of ignoring him when you come over, sit and talk for a few minutes—not about the weather, or me. Or strippers.”

 

“You left out Barry White.”

 

“Don't make me push you off of this roof.”

 

“You'd have to yank me over the wall of it first, then attempt to drag me down the rest of way, during at which point, I could jump to the next roof without injury. Have a blast.”

 

She gave a loud belly laugh after seeing that yes, she'd have quite the job ahead of her.

 

“I'm serious though,” she said after our laughter abated.

 

“Four minutes tops the next time you're over.”

 

I painted on the most convincing smile in my arsenal, forcing it to reach my eyes.

 

“Alright. One more chance.”

 

* * *

She sent Devin a picture of the sunset from the roof. Her phone rang not even a minute after sending it. She stepped back into the living room four hours later.

 

“Everything good?”

 

I winced, not wanting to ask, but sometimes my brain and mouth weren't in complete tandem.

 

“Perfect.”

 

Nothing about her dreamy smile looked manufactured, so I allowed myself to like the guy for a while.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Val padded into living room bright and early, eyes in slits and hair going in every possible direction, grunting in reply to my good morning.

 

“K-cup's in the machine ready to go—it's the chocolate-flavored one—and your choice of danish on the counter. Some scrambled eggs on the stove too. Might be lukewarm at this point.”

 

Her eyes brightened in a bewildered, but grateful look.

 

“What the hell time did you get up? Or did you never go to bed?”

 

“Been up since four-thirty. I dozed for a while when you were talking to Hubby Hubberson.”

 

“Hubby Hubberson,” she rasped, snorting a laugh.

 

“You get weirder by the day.”

 

“Nah, it's just the five and a half cups of coffee talking.”

 

A less grumpy laugh that time.

 

“Dear god. Are we driving to Australia?”

 

“No, I'll fly us there like Superman. Time to squash that fear of heights.”

 

After a few bites of food and generous sips of coffee, she turned to face me on the couch.

 

“Well, I got up at five like you wanted—tell me where we're going.”

 

A tiny smile crept over my face.

 

“It's somewhere you've talked about wanting to go to.”

 

“I've talked about wanting to see the entire _world_ , Savvy.”

 

“True, but if you remember, I brought up the place because of their summer film festival, and you said in passing you wanted to go.”

 

She squinted in thought, forkful of eggs paused halfway to her mouth.

 

“Oh I know!” She set the fork down.

 

“San Francisco, right?”

 

“Yep, congrats. The passes are in my purse. I also booked us a room close to the venue so we don't have to cram all of the films into one day. You're driving until one-thirty-ish by the way.”

 

“Oh I am, huh?”

 

She bit off a section of danish.

 

“Yes.”

 

Val lowered her coffee cup and stared at me, suspicion knitting her brows.

 

“What time will it be when we get there?”

 

“...One-thirty-ish.”

 

A bit of egg landed in my lap.

 

“I already ate,” I said, handing it back to her in a napkin.

 

“Like hell I'm driving the whole way.”

 

* * *

After splitting the drive for four hours, we decided it was time for an early lunch, and time to get out of the damn car for a while. We stretched our stiff limbs, a smiley staff person seating us outside per my request. A glint of interest shone in our waitresses's eyes, her smile unbudging while she penned my coffee order. Andrea winked at me before walking off, my smile tight and pained.

 

Val chuckled into her menu.

 

“What do you think she'd have done if I winked back?”

 

“She would've made the very careful decision to spit in your food.”

 

I laughed, opening my menu and honing in on the all the hiatus-foods.

 

“They only do that if they're treated like shit.”

 

“When I was eighteen, I spit in the soup of a customer who winked at me.” Val said, closing her menu.

 

“Seriously?”

 

“Yeah. He did a little more than wink at me, though.”

 

Andrea ambled back for our food orders. Once she was out of ear-shot, I stood the menus up ala Danny Zuko and leaned in a bit.

 

“Please tell me you kicked the guy in the balls.”

 

“I broke his left hand. Shut it inside the door when I had to lock up one night.”

 

“By accident?”

 

“Hell no. I told him, you grope me one more time I'll break your hand. Bastard never showed his face there again.”

 

“Good. Glad it had a happy ending.”

 

“Me too,” she said, managing a small smile.

 

* * *

Andrea made any other kind of serious discussion impossible, refilling my glass every few sips, asking several times if we needed _anything else at all_ , her gaze pinned to me and my smile of perpetual discomfort. I had to admit she wasn't bad to look at; all shimmering hazel eyes, smooth dark skin and bright, friendly smile, but my annoyance grew regardless.

 

“Nope,” Val said around a bite of sandwich.

 

“She's not hitting on you _at all_.”

 

“More like fishing for a nice tip.”

 

“If she was she'd be falling over us both, regardless of my wedding ring.”

 

* * *

Val said paying for my lunch was only fair, since I made breakfast. I fought her on it, but she won in the end, a bit of her character's signature smugness laced into her smile before she stuck out her tongue.

 

“I believe your admirer left you something.”

 

I sighed, laying out the last of my generous (how could it not be?) tip, securing the bills underneath clean cutlery. Right next to my glass sat a small piece of paper folded into the tiniest square. I shoved it into my purse, zipping it closed in irritation.

 

“Ready?”

 

* * *

I slid into the passenger seat, turning to look at Val the same second she looked at me. We spoke at the same time, our words crashing into a jumble of incomprehension.

 

I tipped my sunglasses down.

 

“Say what?”

 

“Aren't you going to see what she wrote?”

 

“Why would I do that?”

 

“Oh just read the goddamn thing,” she said, pulling my car out of the parking space.

 

“Fine,” I said in my most petulant voice.

 

Took a while to find, being so small. Dreading what I might see, I unfolded the paper in slow motion.

 

_I wish every person I waited on could be as nice as you._

_-Andrea_

 

I handed it over at a stoplight, relief and the smallest sliver of disappointment washing over me.

 

“She didn't leave a number.”

 

I shrugged, though Val didn't see.

 

“I'm sure neither one of us would want to battle hours of traffic for a date that might be terrible.”

 

“Still, you're disappointed.”

 

“A little, yeah.”

 

I folded the paper back up, zipping it into my trash receptacle of a purse and reached for the radio. Now really wasn't the time to not be alright.

 

 

* * *

Five films a day worked out great. We swam at the hotel in between, Val continuing to make sure Devin got his vicarious fill of San Francisco, including a selfie of us in front of the hotel, my face screwed up in confusion as I pondered an upside down road map. Val stood glaring over the edge of her sunglasses like 'look at _this_ moron!' She said it got a good laugh out of him. I nodded, all the while wondering if she left out whether his laugh sounded genuine or not.

 

We saved room service for the last night, Val sitting at the end of the small desk near her bed while I sat in the middle, facing a window overlooking the pool. I looked out and frowned. Well, I had a few choices. Tell Val about the disappearing act now or on the road. Something else jumped into my mind of course, so I ran with it. Maybe I'd get there by the end of it.

 

“What will happen to us if for whatever reason, I can't connect to Devin on even the most basic level? He hates me and I hate him and that's all there is to it—even if we _can_ agree to both loving The Matrix or on our soft spot for dogs?”

 

Val stared, surprise and a touch of sadness lighting her eyes. She stopped eating and pushed the food around on her plate, then looked me straight in the eye.

 

“You can't just assume that'll happen.”

 

“I know, but it might. Then what?”

 

“Oh, I'd just say, 'so long forever; can't have friends around that my husband hates!' Do you know how many of _his_ friends I don't like?”

 

_Huh. Didn't know he had imaginary friends. I should stop._

 

“Half of them are college buddies that never grew up past the age of twelve. They drink like there's an alcohol shortage, crack sexist jokes when they think I'm out of earshot, and force him to play pool for hours at a time on Sundays, when he needs to recoup from the workweek.”

 

“He will love you, Sav, because there is nothing to hate except your standoffishness, which he picks up on immediately. You'll love him because he is kind, compassionate, and has filled our house with movies. You let him see the real you and things will change. I swear on every bible that exists and every last constellation. Alright?”

 

_Nope, nowhere near the time to bring up my disappearing act._

 

“Yeah. Alright. I just wondered.”

 

I added a handful of french fries to her plate, and sure enough, mirth began to override the upset in her eyes.

 

“It's hilarious to me that out of all the things you could've ordered, you chose a cheeseburger.”

 

“What? No way, I totally branched out here! It's a filet mignon with a fried egg and cheese sauce. _Sourdough_ _bread_ , no seeds to be found. And the fries are the best I've ever had in my goddamn life.”

 

She poked my arm with the end of a spoon.

 

“It's a cheeseburger with an evening gown on.”

 

I pointed to the fries I blessed her with, face stern.

 

“Try. Them.”

 

“Okay,” she said after a bite.

 

“These _are_ delicious.”

 

I went back to my dinner, grin a mile wide.

 

“Told you. A few more?”

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

The maids knocked at seven o'clock sharp, and for once in four days, Val smiled a little instead of grunting. My eyes fluttered in astonishment, studying her close to make sure she wasn't a pod-person.

 

She ran a hand through her hair, making it crazier.

 

“What are you staring at?”

 

“Never mind, that just confirmed you're the real Val.”

 

“I'm telling you—weirder by the day.”

 

If I laid the nonsense on extra thick at breakfast, she'd be fine later when I said, “Yo, I told Hubby Hubberson I'd vanish for a few months, to which he replied, 'gee thanks, that'd be swell!'” the concussion I'd suffer from the glass bottle smashed over my head not too severe. Our friendship would stand on half-solid ground from there on out, with Val bringing up his agreement in passive aggression every holiday and birthday. (Worst-case scenario. Not bad).

 

I tried to drive most of the way, images of us colliding with the backend of a Silk Delivery Truck, chocolate milk running through our collective guts if I told her from the passenger seat. Shock or anger would've done it, and I needed to be prepared.

 

“Why the hell won't you let me drive?”

 

Said in confusion, anger not anywhere in her entire body.

 

“I just miss my car—driving it. I hate riding shotgun for long periods, I start to feel like an overgrown toddler—like I should start playing 'I Spy' or count all the blue cars.”

 

“You _are_ an overgrown toddler.”

 

“Asshole,” I said through a laugh.

 

“Pull over at the next rest stop and let me drive for god's sake.”

 

“God and I would rather you not.”

 

She began to stare with her shades on, not moving an inch.

 

“Either you let me drive or I'll call you Savanna from here on out.”

 

“You wouldn't do that.”

 

Dead silence.

 

“Fine, I'll fucking pull over.”

 

I bought a bag of pizza combos as big as my head, two bottles of water, and a pack of gum I'd never chew to delay the inevitable, handing Val her water with a tight smile.

 

“You feeling okay?”

 

_No. I don't want to tell you this thing, even if your reaction won't be that bad. Just let me count the blue cars and eat my combos._

 

“Yup. A little beat from the four and a half hours of driving.”

 

* * *

I walked in slow motion to the passenger side door, the scowl on my face scaring a few crows from their lunch. Val watched them fly off in pitying bewilderment, hand on her hip and eyes rolling skyward.

 

“Please get over it Sav. I'm driving the rest of the way.”

 

I said nothing. Just slipped into a warm seat nearly molded to Val's shape, tossing my bag of Combos to the floor.

 

I reached over to stop her from starting the car.

 

“Got a minute?”

 

I left nothing out, recounting the entire conversation almost in verbatim, pausing only for breath or a sip of water.

 

“I'm really sorry. I couldn't do it because well—how exactly _do_ you tell your best friend: “Hey, I'm going to disappear for two months to make your husband hate me less.” But then I realized by not telling you, my sudden disappearance would make you think I decided to distance myself from you.”

 

“Jesus. This is—I'm not sure what to think.”

 

She drummed her fingernails on the steering wheel, a conflicted look in her eye as she caught my gaze.

 

“Me either. It's why I brought up that whole thing at the hotel—because if he truly wanted to befriend me, he wouldn't have jumped on my suggestion so fast.”

 

Val sighed through her teeth.

 

“You caught him off-guard.”

 

“So what! He still could've compromised with me or said, 'you know what Savanna, that really isn't necessary. I want to get to know you after all and vice versa. Ho, ho, ho!'”

 

“Why is he suddenly Santa Claus?”

 

“I was trying to make him sound jolly about it, and to break up this fucking unbearable tension.”

 

She allowed herself a full smile, only for a second.

 

“We should get going here.”

 

* * *

Val remembered her passenger after the sign for LA cropped up, sparing a second to glance at me in her mirrored shades.

 

“I had a lot of fun. Thanks for letting me tag along, buying my festival pass and everything else you did. You're pretty incredible.”

 

“I need to know something.”

 

She gripped the steering wheel a little tighter and I apologized.

 

“I heard what you said. You're welcome. It would've been lonely as shit without you and not nearly as fun.”

 

Her face relaxed into a warm smile, lasting longer than the first one.

 

“What do you need to know?”

 

“Say you were in my situation. Would you've told me right away, or hid it until the time was a little better?”

 

“I wouldn't have made any deals I didn't think would complicate everyone's life.”

 

_Ouch._

 

“Shit, well, sorry. I didn't see it your way. I saw it as you and Devin getting a bit of a break from me. We would've talked on the phone. Face-timed, texted, everything. I'd still show up on your birthday. I wouldn't have been weird. Just would've thought of it as putting the breaks on the whole thing for a while.”

 

“I get that—but you were keeping something from me. You were being dishonest, and you know nothing pisses me off more.”

 

“I know and I'm sorry. We should've worked something out between the two of us, but not at your reception. I knee-jerked and a disappearing act was the result. Well, not really.”

 

She pulled into her driveway on that last part, shades pushed up, and momentary relief washing over her face. I felt as drained as she looked just seconds before. I pursed my lips, keeping my own shades right where they were.

 

What more really needed to be said? If I opened my mouth again, I'd probably say the dumbest thing imaginable, like “you have no right to be mad at me.” Unless they changed the rules and piss-poor choices were exempt from anger.

 

“Did you know there are eighty-eight constellations?”

 

I shrugged after saying it, more to myself than Val, like 'self, are you even surprised? No.' She handed my keys back, the look in her eyes sad, worn-down, but not distant. Just thinking and hiding their usual light.

 

“Goodnight, Sav. I'll see you.”

 

_Yeah. Right. Sure._

 

* * *

When you don't hear back about your last audition, and don't want to call your best friend for fear you'll worsen a stupid, sticky situation, you drag the suitcase back out, images of your childhood home flooding your mind.

 

The Stones blasting from the living room, you and your dad singing off-key to _You Can't Always Get What You Want_ while your mom hides upstairs with earplugs in, steam billowing from her tea cup.

 

All the nice warm fuzzies I kept in my head.

 

Dad ran to me, smile a mile wide like he hadn't been to the wrap party two months earlier, and wrapped me tight in his arms. Hard enough to hurt a little.

 

“Dad—air. I need air!”

 

“Oh, I'm sorry kiddo,” he said, releasing me a split second later.

 

“Don't know my own strength. How the hell are ya? How was your flight?”

 

“Fabulous as ever, and the flight wasn't bad. How are you?”

 

“Great! Working hard, playing harder, and going to sleep with every bone in my body aching like a bastard.”

 

“That's awful, Dad.”

 

“No it isn't! Means I'm living a full life.”

 

A loud cough made my eyes snap up, the both of us turning to face my mom.

 

“Hey mom. Good to see you.”

 

“You too, honey.”

 

She leaned into my embrace like I wore a sign above my head with 'LESBAIN!' blinking in pink neon, and hugging me would produce a sign of her own reading 'MOTHER OF A LESBIAN!' I exhaled, letting my pain go with it.

* * *

The second I heard from my agent I'd be on the first flight out. Until then I'd work with dad in the backyard, pretending The Stones were on in the background, being careful not to damage the sign over my head while I worked.

 

“Hey, dad?”

 

He stood there with a clump of weeds in his hands, titling his hat up to meet my eyes.

 

“Hey, kiddo.”

 

“What do you think makes a solid friendship?”

 

He gave a casual shrug.

 

“Two people able to bring out the best in one another?”

 

_Did bringing out each other's complete weirdness count?_

 

I gave the daisies I just planted a drink of water.

 

“Have you felt like that's happened for you?”

 

“Sure, with a select few. Can't always mesh perfectly with everyone who takes a shine to us, though. We all have our differences and quirks.”

 

“True.”

 

I dug a fresh section of earth next to the daises.

 

“I did something pretty asinine, and now I don't know where the friendship stands...or if it would be _safe_ to stand without anything supporting it.”

 

I relayed the incident again, planting and watering the whole time.

 

“Marriages often derail friendships.”

 

“Yeah? Thanks, good to know.”

 

“Even if you do end up with another best friend in Devin, it will continue being about them, and their marriage, 'cause as we know: three's a crowd.”

 

“I have no interest in becoming friends with him, and it doesn't help that Val's forcing it.”

 

“Well then, you'll just have come up with a plan that everyone can live with.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

I stood, brushing the dirt from my knees and gloves. Planting mom's favorite flowers might lessen the intensity of my sign, and reword hers to 'MY LESBIAN DAUGHTER PLANTS BEAUTIFUL FLOWERS!' And then, if the universe dared to be kind, we'd have our first real conversation in years.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Forty-eight hours with a dead-silent phone is of course not proof that everyone outside of your parents' house got sucked into an unforgivable void.

 

They just didn't need me for their film. Or they did and my agent died without my knowledge. My married friends were busied sitting opposite each other on their couches, TVs blaring and noses buried in their Twitter timelines. Every last pair of them. That's all.

 

I clapped my hands together and stood, leaving the phone on the bed. My muscles ached in the good kind of way. I'd snuck a vase of store bought daises onto mom's nightstand, the corners of her mouth lifting the slightest bit when she found me and my cup of coffee in the kitchen. I cheered the smile on to form into something more substantial— _c'mon, kiddo, you may be inexperienced, but there's a first time for everything and I believe in you!_ —until words tumbled from her open mouth.

 

“Thank you for the daises.”

 

I nodded.

 

“Thought they'd look nice on the nightstand.”

 

“They do.”

 

_Don't panic just yet. Take another sip and keep going._

 

“So which songs do you know on piano? I forgot.”

 

Just like that, her gaze fell to the dining room table, fingers smoothing out nonexistent creases on each placemat.

 

“Rhapsody in Blue, Hallelujah, and a handful of Beethoven's work except for Moonlight Sonata—I'm still learning that one.”

 

“The title sounds familiar, but I can't put a tune to it. Would I recognize it if I heard it?

 

“Yes, right away.”

 

She stood there staring at me.

 

“Can I hear what you've learned?”

 

“I haven't learned much yet—I'm having difficulty with it and my pacing is too slow right now.”

 

I set the cup onto the counter and shrugged.

 

“So? I'd still like to hear it.”

 

She dusted off her hands, grabbing a clean mug from the dish rack.

 

“You will once I've learned the entire thing.”

 

_Oh, fine. Next subject then._

 

“I'm not seeing anyone.”

 

_Might as well get right to the damn point._

 

A nervous cough.

 

“I didn't think so since you're—well, you're here,” she said in an even tone, her back to me.

 

_That's it, universe. We can't be friends anymore._

 

“Why aren't you thrilled? There's still hope for me.”

 

“Don't you start with that. Your life is yours—it doesn't matter if I approve. You're a grown woman.”

 

“True, you don't have to approve. But you could try talking to me like I'm not a pod-person. Kids need their parents no matter how old they get, and you need your daughter too.”

 

A few tears ran down her face.

 

“What do we talk about?”

 

“Anything, mom. Everything.”

 

She held her coffee cup in a vice-grip, unable to bring it to her lips.

 

“This won't happen over night.”

 

“I know.”

 

“Please be patient with me.”

 

“I will.”

 

She set the cup down, the sound of ceramic upon marble deafening in the quiet of the house. She cleared her throat and glanced towards the stairs.

 

“I'm going to practice for a while.”

 

I waited for her to invite me to listen, but she spun on her heel instead, her gait purposeful and sad.

 

The remnants of my coffee in the sink, I perched myself on a couch arm to listen. I heard pain and uncertainty making the notes dense, her hands depriving them of air. I heard The Stones instead, felt the warm summer dancing over my face, smelled the fresh-cut grass. Even after the house went quiet, I kept playing the same old song.

* * *

My aunt Maureen lived one town over, her ring finger bare for the last year and a half. Looking around, I couldn't even tell that uncle Aaron or their three kids had ever lived there. Colorful art cluttered the walls, while not one single shelf sat without a book or some vintage knickknack. I guessed the place smelled like lavender because of a candle or just her perfume that lingered on everything she touched. I breathed it in a bit.

 

She sat there with a closed-mouth smile, legs crossed at the ankles. Long red fingernails tinkled against the pink tea cup in her hand. I tried to compliment the sound for no particular reason. She chuckled, the warmth of the it making me feel more at home than I did at my parents house, or my own.

 

“There's no way I used to run around this teeny living room with three boys.”

 

“Well, you did—but all of you were smaller then, and Aaron didn't want books on display because of 'moldy book smell.'”

 

She laughed it off with a fondness for the memory it seemed than a lingering fondness for my uncle. I sipped at my own cup of tea, smacking my lips together after.

 

“Ah. Good stuff.”

 

A big, fat lie, but the least I could do was humor her coffee-free lifestyle.

 

“You know you're welcome to stay here when you visit—there's more than enough room for you.”

 

“Yeah, I do. But _you_ know I'm not supposed to even be here so...”

 

Aunt Maureen blew out a long-suffering sigh, thunking her cup onto the coffee table, a bit of tea sloshing over the side.

 

“You're twenty-nine darling, you can go anywhere you damn well please.”

 

I snorted a mirthless laugh inside my cup, pretending to drink that time.

 

“Of course I can. But if mom finds out, I'll never hear the end of it.”

 

Aunt Maureen scoffed.

 

“It's amazing how she thinks shutting out her sister is free of consequences, but even more, I'm astounded by how she thinks _you_ shouldn't have anything to do with me. I didn't shut her out when _I_ was grieving, so why was it alright to do the same to me? Brett was my _son._ She should've been there, and she should still be.”

 

“She just couldn't deal with a suicide in the family.”

 

“I understand. Completely. But what is the harm in talking? Being there for each other?”

 

I stared down into the cup, shrugging my shoulders.

 

“Beats me. I'm going through a similar thing with her on that. I'll try to get to the bottom of it.”

 

She reached for her cup again, leaving the saucer.

 

“You shouldn't waste your breath. It's probably as simple as her wanting a spotless life so she can play every morose song in her repertoire without any true agony behind them.”

 

I groaned, abandoning my tea altogether.

 

“Really? Don't go there. I mean, yeah she does want things to be a certain way in her life, but I see a lot more going on in her eyes. There's a goddamn reason for everything she's done.”

 

“Well then my darling,” Aunt Maureen said, emotion cracking her voice.

 

“If there's anyone who can get to the bottom of things, it's her own flesh and blood.”

 

My gaze drifted to the picture above the mantle, an illustration of Orion standing out among the stars, glittering dots against a blue-black sky. “The universe will listen to us, if we are gentle enough.” scrawled in script at the bottom, along with his initials. He replicated that one many times, trying to get it just perfect enough to impress uncle Aaron who scoffed the second Brett opened his sketchbook. He drew and re-drew until his fingers were numb. As though reading my mind, Aunt Maureen walked with slow, purposeful steps to one of her bookshelves.

 

“I thought you might want it. At least for a while to flip through.”

 

I stared at the red sketchbook, knowing I'd never be able to flip through it. My throat and eyes began to burn.

 

“Thanks.”

 

* * *

Dad stared at my suitcase standing by the front door as a person might stare at Adair, confusion and slight revulsion forcing their forehead into a staircase, squinting like he'd spent twelve days in darkness.

 

“Stop boring holes into it, dad. It's not the source of all evil.”

 

His head snapped up, entire expression warming and his sweet laugh making me smile.

 

“I just don't want you to go.”

 

“I know. The plan was three days though. Have to get back in case my agent does call. Be embarrassing if I couldn't get to where I needed to be on time.”

 

He waved me in for a hug, holding just tight enough.

 

“I love you, kiddo. You're a dream come true.”

 

“Yeah, sometimes. Love you too.”

 

A soft chuckle.

 

“You sure you want your mom to drive you?”

 

I hesitated a second, thinking my words over, knowing the tone I'd give them would matter more.

 

“Yup. It's a chance to get things going, convince her to open the Face Time app without you by the time we get there.”

 

“She'll get easier to talk to when you make her laugh and let her see inside that wonderful noggin.”

 

I nodded, shooting a quick glance toward the staircase after hearing mom's footfalls on the hardwood.

 

“Yeah.”

 

He pressed a light kiss to my cheek.

 

“Have a safe flight and give us a ring once you're home.”

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

I'd save delicate wording for the after life, or another life I might live. Every single one of us would become constellations according to Brett, and if that did happen, we might not be able to talk. Our words would die with us, and if we could still feel regret, we might feel it until the earth gave up. A cosmic joke on us other planets would laugh about until the end of time. _Bastards._ Not long until I boarded. I glanced at mom staring straight ahead. We sat close enough for our arms to touch, and I could put an ocean between us. I didn't want regret. Or distance. I wanted words and I wanted everything.

 

“I went over to Aunt Maureen's.”

 

Mom snapped a look at me, eyebrows vanishing into her hairline at the initial shock, then making a slow reappearance, eyes narrowing into into dangerous slits. She went quiet a full minute, then turned to look at me, anguish twisting her features.

 

“How very wonderful.”

 

I brushed the ice off my shoulders and pressed on.

 

“It's clear enough that she misses you.”

 

“I _don't_ want to talk about this. It's not your business.”

 

“Fine,” I said, swallowing down my hurt, gaze shifting out into the airport.

 

“Just giving you an update.”

 

“Please don't bring it up again.”

 

I bristled, keeping my eyes fixed straight ahead.

 

“I won't.”

 

A few terse seconds passed before she shuffled to her feet.

 

“Well, you don't need me here anymore. Have a safe flight.”

 

“Yeah,” I said without emotion, though I'm sure my eyes betrayed the act.

 

“Love you, drive safe.”

 

She squeezed my shoulder with all the warmth of a Canadian winter, peering into my eyes for half a second before letting go and vanishing into a sea of people and luggage. She swam toward the exit like the house she'd go back to would not remind her of who she'd left behind.

 

* * *

With a glass of iced water affixed to my forehead, fan in pissed off hornet mode, and the A/C blowing out arctic air, my clothes began unsticking themselves from my body. I let out my breath like my lungs were full of smoke and sank deeper into the couch cushions. Saturday afternoon. Two weeks since my uncomfortable conversation with mom, and there I sat, reaching an aching arm toward the coffee table, like more pain and aggravation did not await.

 

_It'll be worth it in the end. You'll have your entire family and things won't be as hard._

 

Three rings in, she picked up.

 

“Hi honey.”

 

_Well damn, didn't expect her to sound happy. Maybe she had a glass of wine or something._

 

I smiled small and short-lived, so she wouldn't hear it in my voice.

 

“Hey mom. What's new?”

 

A few beats of small-talk later, I heard her frowning into the phone.

 

“Is something bothering you? You sound—” She trailed off, her awkwardness settling into the silence.

 

“No, not really” I said, forcing a brighter tone.

 

“Well, okay, a bit. I never heard back from my agent. I've had a few more interviews, but most have been awkward since I don't have loads to divulge. I'm looking into another short film audition and have a Dove commercial to shoot on Friday. I also just got back from walking a friend's dog. I asked him to pay me in iced coffee and that's been, you know, great.”

 

“You sound absolutely miserable.”

 

“I've just hit a rough patch—happens to the best of us.”

 

“Are you still friends with—oh her name escapes me—but she plays the judge on your show.”

 

“Valerie. Yup. She got married in May.”

 

I cringed, wondering why the hell I needed to mention that.

 

“Well that's nice. She always seemed nice.”

 

“Yeah,” I said, pausing to chug some water.

 

“She is. Nice.”

 

_Niceity nicely nice! Okay, cut this shit out, you aren't twelve._

 

“Is her husband nice? Or did she marry—”

 

“Yes, mom. _Devin,_ a _man_ is very nice. Could we let other adjectives have a chance now?”

 

More awkward silence.

 

“Well, _forgive_ me.”

 

“You're offended? I laughed when I said that.”

 

“You don't seem in the mood to talk right now.”

 

“I am. I just don't like—” _This conversation. At all._

 

“—hearing the same word repeated like a broken record.”

 

“We'll talk another time. Go relax and enjoy your Saturday.”

 

I clenched my jaw, gripping the phone in one hand while the other cupped the middle of my forehead, throat on fire from holding back tears. The line went dead at twelve seconds, but I didn't move to end the call.

 

* * *

The phone sat underneath a couch pillow, where it was free to be a bastard and not taint the next twenty-five minutes of my life.

 

I threw empty bottles of shampoo and conditioner against the door, used too much soap and scrubbed my body into a streaky pinkness. Things started to grey around the edges while I wrapped myself in a towel, heart a crazed drum thrashing around my ribcage. I couldn't breathe. I was alone and could not get one ounce of air into my lungs. I began to sweat all over again, ice cold, then jogging in the dog days of summer hot.

 

There, submerged from the neck down in a tub of bordering-on-cold water, my lungs reopened for air. The crazed drum began to slow and a bit of calm returned. I needed Brett. Not standing in the bathroom with me, just on the other side of the door, asking if I was okay. I needed someone to be quiet with, who didn't want anything from me. Someone who would accept “yeah, I'm okay,” as an answer and mess up my combed hair. If he did become a constellation, maybe for a few hours a day—or if time didn't exist—he lived out the life he wanted until there was nothing left to do except clown around with other constellation people. Maybe the after life mirrored actual life aside from miscommunications, or maybe you worked harder to be understood there, because your stars would burn out. I didn't know. I couldn't glean everything from drawings and fading bits of conversation.

 

I curled into a ball, hair still wet, pulling the sheet up to my chin. I thought of him as a solid human to keep from spiraling back toward agony, all the hoops we shot, all the times he kicked my ass, and all the times I let him think he did. I let him nudge a tearful twelve-year-old back onto her feet, reeling from Uncle Aaron's slap across the face, and I let him do it again. Phone plucked from its time-out corner, and a glass of merlot inches away, I hit the call button.

 

* * *

Heart back to crazed drum, pieces chipping off the longer I sat there. Three rings—hand gripping my bastard phone for dear life— _Five rings is a clear indication to hang the fuck up._ Four. A deep, cleansing breath. Five. _Doe, a dear, a female deer._ My eyes slammed shut at the sound of silence and a harried breath.

 

“Hey,” Warmth. Winded warmth.

 

“Hi.”

 

I didn't care if she heard the relief in that word.

 

“Were you on the treadmill or something?”

 

“No, phone was buried under a few blankets.”

 

“Ah. Bastards they are.”

 

The sound of a small grin.

 

“Occasionally, yeah.”

 

I cleared my throat after a sip of wine.

 

“So how are you? How's life?”

 

“Good all around. A little tired from the play and this insomnia isn't helping.”

 

“Try a glass of merlot before bed—I do that sometimes. Knocks me right out.”

 

“I actually think we're fresh out of wine. Plenty of whisky though.”

 

“That works too.”

 

“No shit, but I'd rather not,” Val said through a laugh.

 

“I don't mean you should fill a thirty-ounce glass, just two or three shots and you'll be in happy-sleepy-time land.”

 

“Uh huh. I'll try a chamomile bubble bath first.”

 

Several minutes of nonsense later, I drained the last of my wine and settled into the corner of the couch, needing to be comfortable above all else.

 

“You still mad at me? I mean, you didn't sound it when you picked up, but sometimes you unleash the anger once I'm good and tipsy, hiccuping all over the place, whilst my heart is a wide open room and shit.”

 

“No, my poetic little lush, I'm not mad at you anymore.”

 

“Oh. Do you feel _anything_ on the matter, or—?”

 

“I'm just disappointed. I left you and Devin alone so you could find some common ground, not make things more strained between the two of you.”

 

“I know. I just worried we'd end up with smoke pouring out of our ears and flailing our arms instead of bonding over movies and high-fiving, so I kicked on the defense mechanism. I could not have bared to see you rip off your half of our BFF necklace and crush it to smithereens beneath your heel. Happiest day of your life fucking ruined by the jerkwad whose name you cannot for the life of you recall.”

 

“Oh, you mean the necklace that doesn't exist?”

 

“It was _beautiful_ before you smashed it!”

 

“Sav, that didn't actually hap—why am I indulging this madness?”

 

“Beats me. I'm just over here, hand clutched around the charm of my necklace, mourning the loss of its partner over some merlot.”

 

“If I invite you to our pool party tomorrow, would you leave your melodramatic fiction on the shelf, Hemmingway?”

 

“Melodramatic fiction _results_ from pool parties—five years or so later.”

 

“You can come over earlier, but we're firing up the grill around noon. Burgers and hotdogs. Karina and Chase are bringing Tyler, so remember not to swear. He heard someone say shit head on TV and it took them almost a month before he downgraded it to poopy head.”

 

I threw my head back in a long cackle.

 

“I've never been prouder to be his godmother.”

 

Val chuckled.

 

“So you comin' or what?”

 

“Yep. Expect your poetic lush there at eleven. Here's hoping Devin isn't the speedo-wearing type, because I will _never_ be able to unsee that.”

 

“Speedos are for old men unwilling to part with their youth.”

 

“In related news, my dad and grandpa both hate you.”

 

A murmuring voice in the background cut through her laugh.

 

“It's Sav.”

 

I picked the wineglass back up, squirming and twisting it on my leg.

 

“He said hi.”

 

“Oh. Hi...Devin. Happy Saturday.”

 

_What the fuck just happened to me? Who did I become?_

 

“Don't repeat that to him,” I said in a rush, face growing warm.

 

“The happy Saturday thing.”

 

“Why? That was nice.”

 

_Not. That. Word!_

 

“No, it was weird. I got possessed by a corny devil for a few seconds.”

 

“Never mind,” she said to him.

 

“She's a little tipsy.”

 

The murmur faded out, a door clicked shut and Val gave a contended (or exhausted) sigh.

 

“Do you want to come over?”

 

“If you want me to, sure.”

 

You could hear a pin drop.

 

“Why wouldn't I want you to?”

 

“I don't know, I'm being stupid because—I am.”

 

“Losing your touch there, Hemmingway.”

 

“My heart is a wide open room.”

 

“Only thing you've got?”

 

“Its beauty never fades.”

 

“Well, bring your heart and your ass over here. If you want.”

 

“I think I'm going to just hang here. I mean, we'll see each other for a good chunk of the day tomorrow. I still need to wash my bathing suit from the road trip. And like, all my other clothes.”

 

“What's bugging you, Sav?”

 

“Nothing. I'm good. I'm cool.”

 

“Convincing as hell, too.”

 

“We'll talk about it—I swear. Just not now.”

 

“Okay. Did you want me to let you go?”

 

“Nah. Still have more nonsense to impart.”

 


	7. Chapter 7

Val said not to bring anything, but who in their right mind would've listened? I popped open the cooler lid, taking out juice boxes and popsicles, leaving the small lemon cake inside. (Just for the grown-ups since the kids might spit it out on someone's foot). Her frenzy began to ebb, lips curving into a soft smile.

 

“I love you to the moon, Savvy. I was going to buy juice boxes yesterday and forgot.”

 

“No problem.”

 

I heard Devin before I saw him, the sound of his flip-flops snapping my head toward a face free of glasses, showing off the dark circles under his eyes. He ran a few fingers over spiky hair I was sure hadn't been spiky at the wedding. His swim trunks hit at the knee, (to my visible relief) black and neon yellow zigzags blinding me more with the pattern.

 

“We have them babe—I picked some up earlier.”

 

“Ah, you're the best, cutie. Thanks.”

 

Devin's eyes settled around my collarbone, the enamored smile he wore seconds ago pressed into a firm line.

 

“How's it going Savanna?”

 

Well, couldn't say it wasn't progress.

 

“Going well,” I said, looking him in the eye. They flickered into my own for a second before dropping back to safer territory.

 

“Looking forward to the party. Can I help with anything?”

 

He shrugged like I'd been rude and monotone, eyes connecting with Val's. I hugged myself around the middle to keep from squirming.

 

“Help me fry the onions,” she said, the brightness of her tone breaking up the tension and launching Devin toward the grill like a bat out of hell. My eyes bulged at what looked like four white onions sliced up on a cutting board.

 

“Big fan of onion breath?”

 

_Much safer than 'why is your husband such an ass-wipe to me?'_

 

“The biggest. Grab another frying pan and throw 'em in.”

 

* * *

After the excitement of browning onions died down, I split a head of lettuce with my bare hands, no anger, frustration, or primal yelp behind the action.

 

Val's eyes grew a little concerned.

 

“Tarzan like lettuce?”

 

“Shut it,” I said half laughing, half pissed, shaving a section off and going to town on it with the scariest looking knife in their kitchen.

 

“Not everyone likes it shredded to a pulp.”

 

“Oh, they'll fucking survive.”

 

“ _Sav!_ ”

 

“Tarzan,” I corrected.

 

“I'm sorry Devin acted so weird.”

 

“Don't apologize for him like he's twelve. He's not. Well, on second thought...”

 

She threw me an exhausted look and turned back to her onions.

 

“He knows you don't like him, Sav. We've been over this.”

 

“I did nothing to produce that reaction. I said how things were going in a pleasant voice and looked him in the eye. I asked if I could help _him_ with anything. He acted like I bared my teeth and said, 'fuck you and your subpar juice boxes!' and then clobbered him with them.”

 

“Have one,” Val said, voice soft and diffusing. She shut the burner off and held out a spoonful.

 

“So you just want me to pretend like what happened wasn't bullshit?”

 

She dumped the onions back, spoon clanging against the pan.

 

“If you had _talked_ to him at the wedding, there wouldn't _be_ any bullshit.”

 

“Oh sure. You remember what I told you, how fucking rude he was when I offered to help around the house. I gave him a chance with that conversation, and he fucking shot me down.”

 

“Damn right he did, because he knew if he'd accepted your help, you still would've carried on ignoring him and treating him like shit for no reason.”

 

“Oh, fuck that. That was a fucking invitation to get to know—”

 

“I make things so easy for you. _Why_ must you fuck it all up? What is difficult about sitting down and actually talking? I almost gave up on _you_ in the beginning, because—surprise—I thought you didn't like me. But that's where our differences lie. _I_ decided to give you a chance.”

 

Everything happened at once. Devin leaned his head out the open backdoor, forehead crinkled in concern. “Everything alright?” The door bell gave three separate rings, followed by a loud knock—Tyler's grinning face softening the moment. I'd wrap him in a big hug, kiss his cheek and tell him not to eat too many popsicles. Devin kept one foot in and one out, waiting on Val to speak.

 

“Perfect,” I said and the door let in happier voices. I waited for her to look up from plating onions, but she worked around me, eyes dry and avoiding my own. Angrier than I'd ever seen them. I'd miss Tyler and everyone else, but I didn't belong there, and all three of us knew it.

 

* * *

Like my last Dove shoot, I sat in front of the cameras trying to sneeze my soul (or maybe that corny devil) from my body. I blinked water from my eyes, clumping their just-applied mascara.

  
  


“Don't worry about fixing it,” I said, sniffing.

  
  


“Clumpy mascara is in now I think.”

  
  


“You must be allergic to our products because there's a rash crawling up your neck.”

  
  


I waved off her comment. What about the last time? We got through fifteen sneezes without issue. Why worry about a little bit of sunburn on my neck?

  
  


“You. Are. Allergic.”

 

* * *

Back home with ointment slathered on, my half-empty bottle of merlot tucked under an arm, I slumped into the squishy couch corner. Once my eyes glazed over and the bottle lightened, I froze mid-sip and sat straight up. A bit of wine didn't mean I'd turn into uncle Aaron, but if I could look at myself from the outside, would my immediate thought be, 'fuck. This does not look good.'?

 

Something else started to click into place too, but I couldn't assume anything without a few answers. I plopped down in my office chair and dialed Aunt Maureen's number. The line clicked in lightning fast, her affectionate greeting calming my racing heart and mind.

 

“Honestly, I've been better. Have a few minutes to talk?”

 

* * *

All that wine made the Val-Devin situation sound like an episode of Days of Our Lives. Aunt Maureen struggled to get a handle on it.

 

“Who is Devin again, sweetheart?”

 

“Val's husband.”

 

“And you hit him with a juice box?”

 

“No, but I should've.”

 

“Okay. Which one is Tyler?”

 

“Karina and Chase's three-year-old.”

 

“Karina's also someone you work with on the show?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

I'd put her on speaker so I could make a cup of coffee.

 

“Got it. I still don't know who Adair is.”

 

I gave a dry laugh, spooning sugar into my coffee.

 

“It's cool—she doesn't either.”

 

“Help me out here, my darling. Your aunt's archaic head is about to fly off.”

 

“I was supposed to talk to Devin and I didn't. That's the main thing, and it pissed Val off. The whole mess—the disappearing act—could've been avoided if I'd talked to him at their wedding—real talk and stuff—not about helping them put a bookcase together, because I doubt Devin's ever read a book that wasn't required reading. Probably not even the first Harry Potter book.”

 

“Point is, I'm stuck because I'd do anything to make my friends happy, but I can't bring myself to get closer to Devin. Every other reason aside, I realized why. I'm falling for Val. If I got close to her husband, I'd start to feel heartache. And we do everything we can to avoid that feeling so, logic.”

 

I swallowed a sip of coffee, listening to her digest everything.

 

“Oh. Well that definitely complicates things a lot more. I'm curious though—what are some of the other reasons?”

 

“He used to be apart of the crew on set. His worked hard, got along with everyone, blah blah. But he also flirted with me and every other woman on the lot.”

 

A much more generous gulp of coffee and an 'uh oh,' from aunt Maureen.

 

“He became more subtle about it over time and never harassed anyone, but it still bothered me. Why couldn't he have a conversation with a woman that didn't involve flattering her or touching her arm or shoulder? He put on the breaks after Val expressed a genuine interest in him, and never hit on anyone else after that, to mine and everyone else's relief. Then there are some superficial things: the loud whistling to himself on set, bringing smelly lunches, getting coffee orders wrong all the time. Especially mine, but it was never on purpose.”

 

“I know it'd be easy enough to tell Val the real reasons for not talking to him, but with the first one—the complimenting everyone's hair phase of his life—since their married now, I don't feel like I should be bringing up the past. And anyway, in her eyes, it wouldn't be a good enough reason for not getting to know him now.”

 

“I feel like the second reason isn't good enough either, even though it has merit and the ability to fuck with my head—it's just too simplistic and gives me the perfect excuse to pull away. I need more coffee.”

 

Aunt Maureen cleared her throat.

 

“Am I wearing you down? We can continue this tomorrow if you want.”

 

“No, just thinking. You might not want to hear this, but you should consider giving Devin a chance, regardless of the heartache that might develop. If it proves to be too painful, tell Valerie how you feel before hightailing it, because she deserves the truth. It's either that or shut the both of them out of your life, and believe me when I say you'll be haunted by that decision.”

 

I blew out a small sigh, carrying my second cup to the table.

 

“Well, it's looking like I'll give it the old college try, since I'm not crazy about the idea of being haunted.”

 

I heard aunt Maureen smile.

 

“That'a girl. Let me know what happens.”

 

“I will. And I think I'm going to release you now—I've kept you on long enough.

 

“Oh, you know I don't mind. I love our talks.”

 

“Good, because there's something else we need to talk about tomorrow. I won't be nearly as long-winded, but the topic will still be pretty heavy. What's tomorrow's schedule look like?”

 

“Vacant as a diner in the middle of New York City, my doll.”

 

“We'll have to take a trip to New York one of these days. I know you haven't been in a while.”

 

“Only if you stay in Pennsylvania a while first.”

 

“Deal. I'm not worried about mom's opinion anymore.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Nope.”

 

“Am I correct to assume we're talking about her tomorrow?”

 

“Correct as ever.”

 


	8. Chapter 8

I gave aunt Maureen the run-down over lunch, fan buzzing in the background from another dog-walking adventure. She suggested we talk over Face Time, saying she wanted to use it more often, but needed an expert to walk her through the scariness. She held a finger up, taking a bite of sandwich. Seeing her face filled up the aunt Maureen-shaped hole in my heart, brightening up my tiny office.

 

“Why do you think mom stopped talking to you?”

 

The napkin she used to dab at her mouth stilled in her hand.

 

“Oh, because she'd rather talk to people more worthy of her time and energy?”

 

I gave her a pleading look instead of rolling my eyes, hoping it'd be enough to get the truth out. Once a bit of guilt shined in her eyes, I knew my assumptions were correct.

 

“Did she cut ties because of uncle Aaron?”

 

She held her face in her hands, kept it covered a long time. Long enough to where I thought she might end the call.

 

“I'm sorry, I just. I started putting the pieces together before I called you yesterday. I had to know.”

 

“A few days before I remembered a time where he'd hit me. When I went to bed that night, the missing pieces of that day got filled in. I remembered the alcohol on his breath, and _why_ he hit me in the first place.”

 

Aunt Maureen lowered her hands and looked at me with red-rimmed eyes.

 

“If I had known he ever laid a finger on you...”

 

“It's fine. I broke his model Corvette, so I deserved it.”

 

“No,” she said, breathless and angry.

 

“Don't you justify his disgusting behavior. You were a child, and you made a mistake. He was a grown man who should've known better.”

 

I pushed away my lunch, bit down on a hangnail.

 

“That's why you kept those sunglasses on all day so I wouldn't notice the swelling.”

 

“Yeah, but I think that aligned more with pretending I was Holly Golightly. Or, if I'm remembering right I was Audrey Hepburn gliding around a movie set, calling everyone doll-face. I'd just watched Breakfast at Tiffany's.”

 

Her face brightened a little.

 

“I remember that. You had Brett in hysterics. I might even have it on tape somewhere.”

 

“If you find it, send it over.”

 

After a few more strolls down memory lane, I started to steer things back toward mom.

 

“Do you want to talk to her again?

 

“Of course. But as you know, once she gets an idea in her head there's really no breaking her of it. And listen—it's not your job to fix what's wrong between us, or to fix what's wrong with how she's been treating you. If she truly wants us in her lives, she'll realize she needs to carve out some space.”

 

“I shut her out first, so I got exactly what I deserved. She told Aaron he needed help for the drinking and I wouldn't hear it. I didn't think it was her place to say that, family or not. Sometimes in life, people grab a hold of you. You see something in them that doesn't get buried.”

 

“You're the only one who knows them on such an intimate level, so you excuse whatever they do. Until, of course, they go after your kids and destroy their self-confidence. I'm not saying it's worse than hitting them, but it does have its own brand of scarring. From the second they're made, they're there forever.”

 

“I'm sorry if—I'm sorry.”

 

“For what, my darling?”

 

“Bringing this up.”

 

“It needed to be brought up, and I should've told you the truth years ago. More than likely, you'd be on better terms with my sister if I hadn't held back.”

 

“Don't worry about it. The severe lack of grandkids and my attraction to women is what's working against us most.”

 

“Well, like Devin, she deserves another chance.”

 

“I know. I said I'd be patient with her, and I'm holding myself to that.”

 

Aunt Maureen dabbed at her eyes and smiled.

 

“I admire that patience of yours.”

* * *

I headed out to the dry cleaners a few hours later. Val's house less than a mile from the place, and if Devin's car sat by itself in the driveway, I'd ring the bell. Coming up on their street quickened my heartbeat, and I gave a hard swallow around a beach ball sized lump. This was the way to redeem myself—sparing her from hearing what I'd decided and just going forward with it before time-induced apathy changed us all.

 

I slowed the car to a crawl at the halfway mark, no other vehicles in front of me, but several kids zipping past on bikes. I got out five seconds after killing the engine, not wanting their neighbors to report the creeper sitting in her car. I knew all of them and they more than knew my bright red Lexus, but bad things happened to good people sometimes.

 

I left Lexi with her new silver mustang friend, who I was sure Devin never cared to name, so Silvia she became. The usual suspect brushed his leafy hand on my shoulder on my trek to the door. This required a gentle sidestep to prevent loss of his limbs. Faced with the door at last, I rang the bell and waited.

 

I waited so long I turned back to Emerald, admiring his health and stepping closer to pick debris off of him.

 

“ _Savanna_?”

 

Surprise and confusion fused Devin's eyebrows together, his frown deepening the longer I stood there without answering.

 

“Yeah, sorry. Hi. I just. Hey.”

 

“Hi.”

 

He glanced at the street behind me like he'd find evidence of an Apocalypse there.

 

“Val went out with Tracy, so if you wait on her, you'll be waiting until dinnertime.”

 

I titled my chin up, looking him straight in the eyes.

 

“I wanted to talk to you if you've got a minute.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Curiosity overwrote the confusion in his eyes.

 

“Sure.”

 

He held my gaze for a whopping three seconds, but at least kept the door from closing on my foot.

 

I refused any sort of beverage, sinking down into the cushy middle of their sectional, and regretting the choice a second later. Too much comfort meant I'd lose my nerve and actually start to talk to him about strippers. If he'd ever known any; the ones I'd actually talked to—especially one who looked like Angelina Jolie. Said she got that all the time.

 

I guessed if worse came to worse, I could bring it up as a way to override our discomfort. Devin occupied the generous far-end of the couch, closest to the massive ottoman in the center with his drink. I propped a pillow up behind me to decrease my comfort, but sank further down into feathery depths, melting to the point of forgetting my name. The pillow got thrown aside, the makings of a scream building in my chest.

 

“You okay?”

 

“Yeah. I just—why is your couch so fucking comfortable? It's annoying.”

 

Devin's chuckle sounded restrained, but genuine enough. He shrugged a shoulder.

 

“I can't picture any two people—whoever they were—having vicious fights on a couch like this. If they tried they'd fall asleep midway into it, stupid grins on their faces.”

 

He relaxed the grip on his water glass, smiled into it.

 

“We've actually fallen asleep during every movie we've watched on this couch—high drama scenes included, so yeah. Lesson learned.”

 

I laughed, forcing my spine from the buttery softness and taking a deep breath to steel myself. Now or never.

 

“Would you say you apply the whole 'three strikes and you're out' mentality to life?”

 

He straightened his posture, meeting my gaze head-on.

 

“Pretty much.”

 

He took a healthy chug of water.

 

“I make exceptions if the person is actually sorry and trying not to fuck up, though.”

 

I nodded, rubbing my hands together in slow motion and kicking myself for refusing a drink.

 

“I gave chances out like water because my dad instilled that in me from an early age. Then I started to rethink it; lessened the slack until I became like a teacher I remembered in this movie who whipped you up by your hair if your loud pencil-dropping disturbed the class. I didn't like how it made me unapproachable sometimes, so again I readjusted it; giving people a bit more leeway than I was comfortable, which was two and a half strikes. That still works for me now, and it's a nonnegotiable thing.”

 

Another gulp of water and a curious look.

 

“I didn't like you when I met you. I know your behavior was harmless, and the intent wasn't to make me uncomfortable—but you did. I guess I didn't really count because I wasn't interested in men, but after the second or third didn't warm to you, why did you keep going with it?”

 

His eyes drifted over my shoulder, latching onto something in the kitchen. Maybe a painting. I looked right at him, and his eyes shifted back to mine at last.

 

“I don't know,” he said with a sigh, pink face tilting down.

 

“I was nervous I'd fuck up the job, so that took a bit of the edge off. I calmed down after a few weeks, and by the time I met Val, I was completely chill. I'm sorry, Savanna—that I made you uncomfortable. At the time I didn't realize I was doing anything wrong. It was a left over mentality from dorm life I couldn't part with, and just social awkwardness. I liked to compliment people, make them feel good. I got too carried away sometimes.”

 

I massaged a crick in my neck, wanting like hell to lean back but knowing full well stripper talk awaited if I did.

 

“You're forgiven. Sorry I didn't disappear for two months and took Val on a road trip with me.”

 

He shrugged, laughing a bit.

 

“Not like you dragged her into the car kicking and screaming—she made the choice to go. And hey, that sunset from your roof was incredible.”

 

“I know, right? I live for views like that. Always taking pictures of the sky.”

 

“Same here. It's a nice break from my oceanography work, but in almost all of my off the clock pictures, the water sneaks into frame since I happen to like the completeness of it.”

 

I asked what his workdays were like and if he'd ever gotten up close to a shark.

 

“Plenty of times. My heart palpitates all the way to the surface.”

 

That of course, brought the subject around to _Jaws_ and his thoughts on it.

 

“Awesome movie. Haven't had a nightmare about it in over four years.”

 

“Yeah? Lucky. I thought mine had finally stopped until the other night, and I haven't watched it since I graduated from high school.”

 

I smiled at the genuine laughter hitting my ears, choosing that moment to lean back and indulge for a minute.

 

“So I'm guessing you aren't the biggest fan of horror?”

 

“I'll make an exception on Halloween—for maybe five minutes. The second I hear the semblance of a scream I check out because I know it's usually followed by a limb getting sawed off. Why do only women scream in horror movies?”

 

“Guy screams sound too cheesy.”

 

“No, it's because they're usually the ones holding the chainsaw or wearing the mask.”

 

“What about The Exorcist?”

 

“She was _possessed_ and a _kid_.”

 

“The Ring? Blair Witch Project?”

 

“Another kid, and Blair Witch only makes sense if you're drunk.”

 

“I thought you shut your eyes whenever someone screamed?”

 

“I crank the volume up and go into the next room. Whatever doesn't make sense, I look into online.”

 

“You're pretty funny.”

 

I lifted my head from the cushions to gauge his expression.

 

“Funny as in weird?”

 

“No. Witty. But if I'm being honest, a little weird too.”

 

I snorted a laugh.

 

“Life's a lot more fun if you're weird.”

 

* * *

Things were going great until I said all horror movies were stupid and sexist.

 

“You don't even _watch_ them though! And sorry, but there's no way you've listened to every horror movie in existence. What about Silence of the Lambs? Nothing sexist about that one.”

 

“I couldn't deal with the fucking cannibalism.”

 

“That's what it's _about_ , Savanna.”

 

“I know, and I couldn't stomach it.”

 

“There's lots of horror movies about women killers.”

 

I did my usual when a conversation got too uncomfortable and since he wasn't Val, he looked at me like I'd sprouted a second nose.

 

“Huh? What do walruses have to do with anything?”

 

“They're interesting. Funny. The kind of face only a mother could love.”

 

“You really are fucking weird.”

 

_Good. That's what I've aspired to be my entire life, so fuck you._

 

“Takes one to know one.”

 

_Perfect. I've morphed into Carol Brady._

 

“Do you really think Val would've married me if I were sexist? Some of my friends are, but I just ignore that bullshit.”

 

I wanted a glass of water right then if only to drown myself in it.

 

“Do you ever tell them to stop?”

 

He went a little pink again, looked to the floor.

 

“If I do they tell me to eat shit.”

 

I scoffed.

 

“Nice friends.”

 

“It's just the mentality they were raised in.”

 

I threw a glance out the window, then down at my watch.

 

“I should get going. Need to pick something up for dinner.”

 

He stood at the exact moment I did.

 

“We're ordering pizza tonight. You can stay if you want.”

 

“Thanks, but I need to get going.”

 

He took a few steps closer.

 

“So, what, do you hate me all over again? I'm nothing like them, Savanna.”

 

“No, I don't, and I know you aren't. I just need to go now.”

 

“Sorry I said you were weird.”

 

I gave a dry, mirthless laugh.

 

“I've been called much worse—don't lose sleep over it.”

 

He blinked, retracting a step.

 

“I said I was sorry.”

 

“I know. Sorry for the shitty tone.”

 

He set his jaw, looking anywhere besides my face.

 

“You don't forgive me though, do you?”

 

I let too much time go by. Devin began to grind his teeth, fixing his gaze out the porch doors.

 

“I don't get you. At all.”

 

_Should've known this would happen._

 


	9. Chapter 9

I was up at five the next morning, a homemade smoothie and the Sunday paper in front of me. My eyes crossed as I tried to absorb the words swimming in front of them. Ah, well. I knew the world sucked without having to see it spelled out in dramatic headlines. Sleep should've come a little easier what with all the progress I was making.

 

I'd gotten some answers, and loads of things off of my chest. So why'd I start watching The Golden Girls at one-thirty? Oh right, the whole agent not calling in almost a month situation. I snapped up my phone, typing her name into Google. Yup, still alive. Nothing saying that she'd hightailed it either. Good. At least one of my eyelids might stop twitching with that information.

 

No dog-walking today, since Sparky's owner was usually home on Sundays. I glanced at my phone again, a grinning little boy popping into my mind. I missed the little stinker like crazy. He'd be thrilled if I popped over. Then it hit me. Five-thirty in the goddamn morning on a Sunday. My smoothie and toast sat untouched. I'd need five more espressos before I could handle Tyler leaping into my arms.

 

I started on the toast, deciding to enjoy my own company until then. I could take a long walk around the neighborhood. Revel in the serene morning whilst my heart was a wide open room. Or re-watch Breakfast at Tiffany's. Either one.

 

The movie kicked my ass out into the sunshine at least. I stood across from a mass of orange marigolds, about to break my no Instagram during hiatus rule. They were happy bursts of sunshine dancing under the morning light—who _didn't_ need to see them? Perfect angle captured and posted, I closed the app and marched on.

 

After making it full circle around the block, I goggled the flowers again, wondering why I'd never noticed them until now. Was this part of falling in love? Colors jut out at you with extra vibrancy and turned you into a cheesy poet? Or were the marigolds the perfect distraction from difficult thoughts? Before I could contemplate it further, the sound of shoes crunching on grass snapped up my head. My seventy-year-old neighbor stood in front of me, hedge trimmers in one hand and a liberal bouquet of marigolds in the other.

 

“Thought you might like a few.”

 

“Oh, you didn't have to do that, Ester.”

 

She pushed them into my hand.

 

“I have several more of these in the backyard—I won't miss a bouquet.”

 

“You're awesome. Thank you.”

 

“Don't mention it. They need lots of sunlight, and can be dried should you want to hold on to them.”

 

I thanked her again, walking the rest of the way home an entire universe happier than before.

 

* * *

I knew Val would call. It was just a matter of when, and of course it was during my shower. Calling after I'd trimmed the marigolds and set them on the windowsill? Far too convenient and unrealistic. I threw on clothes, zipped a comb through my hair and plopped onto the bed, taking a second to catch my breath.

 

“Hey.”

 

“Hi.”

 

I heard the tiniest suggestion of a smile in her voice.

 

“Saw you were up early, so thought I'd call.”

 

“Guess you haven't unfollowed my Instagram then.”

 

“I liked the post too.”

 

“Yeah? Thanks.”

 

“No problem,” she said, a bit of humor in her tone.

 

“It's nice to hear your voice again.”

 

“Yeah,” I said, clearing my throat to keep my emotions in check.

 

“Yours too.”

 

We caught each other up, our laughter kept to short bursts. Our words were soft and careful until we regained what we'd stripped them of.

 

“So I heard you and Devin talked yesterday.”

 

“A bit,” I said, my tone going a little flat.

 

“He seemed a little—”

 

I let her search for the appropriate word.

 

She sighed.

 

“He seemed upset.”

 

“Things were going okay for a while. And then, you know, me being me—they started to go downhill.”

 

Silence on the other end.

 

“What happened?”

 

“I said all horror movies were stupid and sexist, which lead to a whole big thing.”

 

“It didn't go any deeper than that? I just can't see him getting bent out of shape over differing opinions.”

 

“Alright, well. Skirting over this won't do any good. When things started getting awkward I deflected with a question about walruses. That kind of threw him off, but I kept going with it, hoping to make him laugh. Nope. Just an insult. When it came time to leave, he apologized and asked if I forgave him. I said nothing. He said he didn't get me, and I left.”

 

More silence, knowing I'd continue after a breath.

 

“I did actually forgive him, because all he said was 'you really are fucking weird,' which I take as a compliment now. But for whatever reason I didn't vocalize it.”

 

“You don't like him.”

 

I winced.

 

“I still don't know him.”

 

“No, you don't, but I know you're trying not to outright say that you dislike him. You could try again to see if things start to shape up, but that's your call. I'm glad you gave him a chance though. I know I pushed you, but you kept delaying it, and the stagnancy made it more difficult on everyone. I wanted you to give him a chance. I wanted him to see what I see in you, and for those Saturday dinners to eventually include all three of us.”

 

“Yeah. And probably a forth person, holding my hand under the table to balance things out, too. Then we could go to couples movie night, and bowling night when we're cranky old farts. I more than get it. It just might not happen.”

 

“I'll still be here either way.”

 

I shut my eyes, allowing my heart to both swell and ache for a few seconds.

 

“Good to know.”

 

* * *

I sat in front of my laptop Wednesday night, dad's warm voice opening up the room. Mom's iPad sat propped on the desk, the both of them struggling to keep their faces in frame. Dad got the idea midway into our phone conversation to continue it over Face Time. The door squeaked open ten minutes later, mom finding her iPad at last. He tugged her into frame, and something close to a smile lifted the corners of her mouth.

 

They were delighted to hear that Giovanni, Sparky's human needed me for a part in his short film, and I would start tomorrow morning. Their landline rang from the living room, and dad excused himself to answer it.

 

“Don't believe them when they say your computer is riddled with viruses. You guys only own an iPad.”

 

Mom gave a soft chuckle.

 

“Oh, be quiet you,” I heard dad say off-screen.

 

“I should fly there right now and rip out every last telephone wire in the house. The quality of your lives would immediately start to improve.”

 

“We don't like cell phones, honey. You know that.”

 

“I know, but if you got an iPhone, you could Face Time with me on it, instead of chipping your nails on the rotary.”

 

She blinked at me in astonishment.

 

“I can really use this Face Time on a cell phone?”

 

I bit back a laugh.

 

“Yup. Comes installed on every Apple product.”

 

“Well. I'll think about it. Not so enthused at the idea of throwing down another five to six hundred for something that'll be outdated in a month.”

  
Parents, man. I'd never understand them. Silence crept in once we'd gotten the small-talk out of the way. I cleared my throat, stumped on how best to move forward.

 

“Maureen called me a few days ago.”

 

_Had a feeling she would._

 

“Did you talk—”

 

“It wasn't the best conversation,” she said, barreling past me.

 

“We yelled more than anything else, but towards the end of it things started to calm down.”

 

“What did you—”

 

“You may already know, since you confide in Maureen, but I'll tell you anyhow.”

 

She took a deep breath and a sip of water.

 

“Aaron drank their marriage into the ground. I tried to help before it got to that point, but Maureen put up her hand and that was that.”

 

“Yeah, I do know.”

 

Another look of surprise.

 

“She told you?”

 

“I pieced it together. I remembered Aaron hitting me when I stayed over one summer, clearly bombed when he did it.”

 

She clenched her jaw, gaze shifting from the screen.

 

“Why didn't you tell me?” Her voice broke on the last two words, anger and sadness bubbling in her eyes.

 

“If I did, that would've been the last summer I spent there. I could run like a lightning bolt, squeeze myself into places he didn't think to look. I loved my cousins and aunt Maureen and were too attached to them.”

 

“Did he ever do it again?”

 

“Wouldn't go near him. I took off running at the barest hint of anger.”

 

“Of course she didn't mention that.”

 

“Well, it was news to her too. I'd been repressing it.”

 

“God. I just can't _believe_ —”

 

“Can we change the subject?”

 

“That revolting son of a bitch harped on Brett relentlessly. Made him believe he was nothing.”

 

“I succeeded in distracting him a lot of the time. Made up dumb stories on the spot he found hilarious because they were so disjointed. I needed to be there.”

 

“I know, honey.”

 

A pause.

 

“Do you think I was wrong to tell Aaron he needed help?”

 

“No. Families are supposed to help each other. And had you said nothing at all, someone else would've.”

 

“I should've tried to console her after Brett's death. I should've gone to his funeral and paid my respects. The guilt of knowing I did neither—it still keeps me awake.”

 

“You were there from the beginning though. You loved them enough to try and stop someone who was trying to destroy all of us. I'm proud of you, and I've slept a lot better knowing this. Leave the guilt for the people who've actually done terrible things. If you'd gone against aunt Maureen, it might've done more harm than good. You did everything right, mom.”

 

“I did a few things right, but I understand your point of view, and you're entitled to believe that. The plain truth is I cowered when I should've taken action. Having tried to help does count for something, you're absolutely right. Standing by and allowing Aaron to beat down my nephew? That dashes my previous effort in a heartbeat. I have to live with this mistake, no matter how good my intentions were. But I'm happy you know the truth. And I'm proud of you too.”

 

“For what?”

 

“Not letting any of it burrow into you and getting on with your life. Being stronger than me.”

 

“You're strong. So what if you have a few scratches. I've spent most of my life hiding behind defense mechanisms, hoping people won't be able see through them. My strength is just smoke and mirrors.”

 

“Talk yourself down all you want. I know what I see and who I raised. There's nothing wrong with making people laugh when things get uncomfortable.”

 

“Only, it is sometimes. They look at you like you're a pod.”

 

“If they have no sense of humor that's their problem. And why do you continually reference that movie?”

 

“It's the best movie _ever_ , mom. C'mon.”

 

“It was decent.”

 

“ _Decent?_ You're really going to hurl an insult of that magnitude at my favorite movie? What if they decide to remake it again and I'm somehow involved?”

 

Her face relaxed into a smile.

 

“Well, I'd still be proud of you.”

 

“Even if I started out as the physiologist and became one of the pods halfway through?”

 

“It's your life. You can be whatever you want.”

 

“I don't think those people had a choice though. It was more a surrendering than anything else. Realizing if they resisted it, they'd end up hurting themselves and the people they loved. And if that's the role I'm assigned, it's not up to me either.”

 

“You've never been and never will be a pod to me, honey. You're you. You're different in many ways I'm not used to, but it doesn't mean it's wrong or I'm ashamed. It just means I don't fully understand. But I will if we get to a point where we talk without the blinders.”

 

“We'll get there sooner than you think. I mean, look at our progress in the past hour alone.”

 

She smiled again, moving a fraction closer to screen like she wished she could reach through it and squeeze my hand.

 

“I promise not to bombard you when I get that phone. I'll warn you with a text message before I Face Time with you—if I can figure out how to send one that is.”

 

My laugh never sounded as genuine to my own ears as it did then.

 

“You will.”

 


	10. Chapter 10

Much like the aftermath of Val's bachelorette party, red plastic cups littered the back deck railing, and sat underneath chairs. Smoke and melted wax lingered from the kitchen, the thirty-five taking to the lighter after my third attempt. The good luck candle went first, while the rapidly melting thirty-five stayed lit with several aggressive puffs of breath.

 

Val rolled her eyes, though her smile stayed put.

 

“It's a trick candle, right?”

 

“No, I swear on my life. Maybe you didn't make a good enough wish, and the candle won't go out until you're honest with it.”

 

She snorted a laugh, making me jump away with a pinch on the hip.

 

“That's payback for everything you've done to me, ever.”

 

“It's much better than a hard stiletto kick in the ass, so thanks.”

 

Worried she'd be able to see how much deeper I was falling then, I thought of her wishing for a new water heater, and I knew my expression glazed over within seconds, everything dangerous scooting into the far, far reaches of my brain with a glass of warm milk. I still smelled like the strawberry Val threw in my lap once a slice of cake sat in front of her. She either did it for a laugh, or as more payback for something I'd do in the future.

 

“Ten so far,” I said to Devin, tossing them into the trash bag he held open.

 

“Don't know about you, but I feel like I need to apologize to my parents while also rushing to hand in a late term paper, pretending I'm not the least bit hungover.”

 

He gave a short laugh, nodding in agreement. During last week's Saturday dinner, I decided to give him one more chance before sending him to the the dugout. I still didn't know where I leaned in terms of how I felt about him, but as long as my insides didn't boil the second he opened his mouth, I knew there was hope. Just had to keep our conversations safe and light until the end of time.

 

He was starting to catch on to my sense of humor, and I was starting to form a clearer picture of his personality. Where I used humor at every open opportunity, he used it in increments like too much would inject poison into our veins.

 

He'd never see me how Val did, and we might never fully connect, but at least the head-hellos would stay in the past. After Devin and I hauled off four heavy bags of trash and not a single cup or scrap of wrapping paper remained, I pulled a small, rectangular box from my purse, shining in silver paper. Wide-eyed monsters danced all over it. Val choke-laughed on her sip of birthday merlot.

 

“Shit. Sorry,” I said, smile vanishing. She started to calm down after a few thunks on the back.

 

“Better?”

 

She nodded, coughed, and pinched my hip again, hard enough to make me yelp.

 

“Fuck, I said I was sorry! The paper was so obnoxious and fitting to this gift, I _had_ to use it, okay?”

 

I saw Devin out of the corner of my eye, having just stepped out the back door. He half-smiled at me, shook his head, and disappeared into the house.

 

“You bought me five gifts Savvy, in case you were unaware.”

 

“Five's a lot? On what universe? They only took forever to unwrap because I double-wrapped them.”

 

“Yeah, and everyone _loved_ you for that.”

 

“So they'll be a little late for work tomorrow morning, and you're the only true friend I have left in the world. Big deal. Just open it.”

 

She plucked the gift from my fingers, glittering eyes in slits, wearing a dangerous 'if anything jumps out at me, you're dead' smile. The paper fell away with ease, though I'd taped down the lid for extra security rather than aggravation.

 

A heart half attached to a thin chain sat inside, shining in very real twenty-four caret gold. She smacked the arm of her chair, the box quivered in her lap and I caught it before it could fall into the pool.

 

Fully recovered again, she brought it closer to her face and frowned.

 

“You gave me the wrong one, this one has your name.”

 

“I know what I did.”

 

I looked away, thinking of the water heater again, the noise they sometimes made. But I don't think I was quick enough. Her face softened and her eyes grew a little sad. She looked away for a second, bit down on her lip.

 

_Oh well. Let her see the truth. She deserves to know, and I can't keep up this charade forever._

 

“That's not how it works, though.”

 

I waved a hand.

 

“Have I ever played by the rules? More fun to wear each other's. And it'll have the added bonus of confusing new people.”

 

She laughed, the sound soft and careful.

 

“Going by that logic, yours should say Tarzan.”

 

I forced myself to meet her gaze while she fastened the necklace. My heart might've ached, but at least it wouldn't continue to be unbearable in its weight. We'd be okay. We'd have our Saturdays, and we'd be okay.

 


End file.
